


Welcome Home

by EmCY



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmCY/pseuds/EmCY
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jim watched the ceremony for the return of the remains of the victims who were lost during the battle with Khan.<br/>Set after Jim was released from the hospital and before the rechristening of the Enterprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Published without giving it a second look; pardon the mistakes.

Jim sat on the couch, eyes glued to the television screen for the past hour or so. He was still tired despite sleeping and resting for most of the time but he did not feel like lying down again. So, he settled himself on the couch, watching whatever was on the television because no, his lovely doctor said he was not allowed to be near any paperwork yet. He was released from the hospital a few days ago and had finally, been given clearance by McCoy to go back to his quarters. A sigh escaped him. Freedom, at last.

 

“Drink, Jim.”

 

Or not, he thought.

  
  
Blue eyes looked up from the couch only to see a mug of steaming liquid being pushed into his hands. McCoy wrapped Jim’s hands around the mug securely before walking back into the kitchen.

 

“What’s this?” Jim asked, surprised.

 

“Tea. You need fluids, drink it.” McCoy said. “And don’t you dare put that down before you drink the whole thing,” he looked up from the meal he was preparing and looked at his captain sternly. “Or it’s back to the IV for you.”

 

Still weak hands trembled, the mug halfway to the coffee table that Jim was thinking of setting it down on. Mission aborted, he thought, settling his hands down on the pillow in his lap lest his hands decided to add scalding into his list of injuries next.

 

“Yes, mom.”

 

Jim thought he was getting used to McCoy’s stares over the period of his hospitalization. The latter always gave him the look, the gaze that pinned him down and demanded him to finish him meals even though he was throwing up most of them. It was always “eat, Jim” and “drink, Jim” followed by the stern look and the furrowed brows. Jim always got to sweet talk his way out with the nurses but no, not a chance with the good doctor.

 

Not when he saw how his best friend poured all his energy into bringing him back alive.

 

Mug in hand, Jim brought it to his lips and took a few sips of the tea while he continued to flip through the television until he came to a stop. When he saw it, his breath hitched in his lungs. He didn’t bother to increase the volume, knowing there won’t be any commentary when he saw the screen. All the flags were hoisted at half-mast, the atmosphere quiet and solemn. Jim sat his mug down onto the pillow. This was the first time he ever saw this. Back then, he was still lying on the biobed in the hospital, spending more time unconscious; sleeping more than waking. While he was struggling to stay awake for a few more minutes before the drugs and his body took him under again, there was a live telecast of the ceremony to honour all the lost lives during the battle with Khan.

 

The crew he lost, as a captain.

 

He blinked to clear his vision and looked at the sensor on his wrist, silently ordering it to not pick up the hitch in his breath or the heart hammering in his chest. Jim knew it wouldn’t be easy. He knew it wouldn’t be possible to forget all the innocent lives he was responsible for until the end of his time.

 

The replay of the ceremony went on with Starfleet personnels carrying coffins with the remains of the victims. One by one, Jim saw the photo and the name of the victim being displayed on the screen as the soldiers marched by, coffin on their shoulders, walking by the crying family members. He watched and watched, until the lists of victims were displayed on the screen.

 

“Jim?”

 

A new lists came up after that; a list that showed series of names with no bodies to them. Photos and their names lining up to each other, without a coffin next to them. Jim wondered how much blood were on his hands this time. How many lives had he failed this time?

 

“Were you there, Bones?” a soft voice escaped Jim.

 

McCoy looked at Jim from across the kitchen, his friend never did spare a look at him when he voiced that question, blue eyes transfixed on the television screen. Damnit, Jim! You weren’t suppose to watch this now. He put the lid onto the pot and walked towards his friend.

 

“No, I wasn’t, Jim.” McCoy stood in front of his captain, looking at the tears stained face. “I was with you.”

 

Jim did not say anything. His hands trembled, but he suspected it was not because of fatigue this time. He looked at all the names displayed on the screen, memorizing all the faces and the names and reminding himself these were the people, his people, his crew, his family.

 

“Jim…”

 

“You know,” Jim looked at McCoy with a small smile in place. “I never get to do the one-minute-silence thing with you guys.”

 

The sad smile broke McCoy’s heart. He plopped himself down next to Jim and  took the mug away from those trembling hands before setting it down on the table.

 

“You didn’t get a chance to mourn, Jim.” McCoy brought a hand to wipe the tears on Jim’s face. “You can mourn for your loss now; you can cry for your family.”

 

“Bones, I…” Jim looked away, hanging his head low. “I was their captain, Bones. I was supposed to bring them home and I failed them.” The last sentence hung in the air like a thick blanket, suffocating him.

 

“Look at me, Jim.” McCoy gently held those trembling hands in one of his own and turned Jim’s face towards him with the other.

 

“You didn’t fail them, Jim. You-”

 

“I was supposed to bring them home, Bones!” Jim shouted. “Half of my crew are dead and I didn’t even bring their bodies back to their family!”

 

Angry tears streamed down from blue eyes, burning with anger and hatred and despair and guilt. Jim turned his head away from McCoy’s hand, not wanting to surrender himself into the comfort the doctor’s hand could offer. He knew he shouldn’t take it out on his best friend. He knew he shouldn’t act all emotional about it.

 

He knew, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop the stupid tears.

 

“They are home, Jim.” McCoy placed his free hand in front of Jim’s heart, feeling the resonated thumping. “They are here, Jim. And they are home because you have them in your heart.”

 

“Bones…”

 

Jim didn’t get to finish whatever he needed to say because McCoy held him tightly, tucking him safely in his arms. He was shocked for a few seconds before he buried himself into the offered shoulder.

 

“That’s it, let it all out, Jim.”

 

McCoy held him tightly while he trembled in his arms, feeling the warmth and wetness seeping through his shirt. He couldn’t tell how long had it been before the quivering stopped completely but he knew they could both get through this.

 

Because they had each other.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 22nd of August was the National Mourning Day in my country, Malaysia. Today, we welcomed our people who were lost in the tragedy of flight MH17 home. As I sat and watched the broadcasted ceremony, I felt like I need to put my feelings into words and writing seemed like a good way to do it.
> 
> We have waited more than 30 days for these people to come home. And today, they are finally home.


End file.
